


No Worries (Sour Kush, Part Two)

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: Sour Kush [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs in a Car, College Student Stiles, Comeplay, Hairy Derek Hale is my religion, Idiots in Love, Jealous Stiles, M/M, Marijuana, Oblivious Stiles, POV Stiles, Power Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Rimming, Stoned sexytimes, Stoner Derek, Tattooed Derek, but only ten years though, past Derek/Deputy Parrish, stubbled Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They talk a lot, strewn across Derek’s ridiculously big and comfy couch or his even more ridiculously big and comfy bed, and sure, Stiles spends the night often, but that’s because he’s always too stoned to drive home. And last month, when his dad was out of town for a law enforcement conference, Stiles didn’t leave Derek’s for five whole days except to go work his shifts at the library, coming right back with takeout and ice cream. He wore Derek’s clothes pretty much the entire time he was there, when he had clothes on, that is.</p><p>And he knows Derek isn't sleeping with anyone else. </p><p>But it’s not like they’re dating, or like they're <em>together</em> or anything. </p><p>That would require actual dates, and Stiles finally telling his dad who he's been spending all his time with this summer, giving up his evasive <em>just some guy I'm seeing casually, no we're not really dating, no reason for you to meet him</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Worries (Sour Kush, Part Two)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of [Sour Kush](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2134521)! I lurrrv writing stoned sex, if you can't already tell. :) 
> 
> I wrote a little drabble in this verse for [notenoughgatorade](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - we'll call it part 1.5. Totally not necessary to read to follow this fic, but [here it is](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com/post/94891694847/i-want-more-sour-kuuuuuuuuuushhhhh-dang-that-was-great) in case you're curious as to what stoner!Sterek has been up to. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments and kudos, which are greatly appreciated! xoxo.

Stiles had wanted to go to Erica’s party with Derek, but he had already made plans to go out to dinner with Scott and his new girlfriend. It had nearly killed him to say no, but he's already cancelled on Scott and Kira twice because he couldn't drag himself away from Derek's bed, so he really couldn't bail on him this time. 

In the nearly two months that they’ve been hooking up, Derek has never asked Stiles to go anywhere with him, has never asked him to do anything that isn’t having sex and getting high. Often there’s delivery food and sometimes they cook together, and usually there’s several hours of Netflix between blowjobs and earth-shattering rimjobs, but that’s just, like, recuperating between rounds. And once Stiles smoked an entire joint – a fat one laced with concentrated THC oil, one of Derek’s special and most popular products – while Derek went down on him, Colby Keller and Dale Cooper fucking each other lovingly on the big TV behind his bobbing head. It was so good and perfect Stiles thought he was going to explode when he came across Derek’s mouth, into his beard. He was so _ecstatic_ with how good he felt, with how sweet and sexy Derek looked, he had to lunge forward to lick his come from his lips, giving his mouth something else to do other than mumble the _I love you_ that was threatening to escape and ruin everything.

They talk a lot, strewn across Derek’s ridiculously big and comfy couch or his even more ridiculously big and comfy bed, and sure, Stiles spends the night often, but that’s because he’s always too stoned to drive home. And last month, when his dad was out of town for a law enforcement conference, Stiles didn’t leave Derek’s for five whole days except to go work his shifts at the library, coming right back with takeout and ice cream. He wore Derek’s clothes pretty much the entire time he was there, when he had clothes on, that is.

And he knows Derek isn't sleeping with anyone else. 

But it’s not like they’re dating, or like they're _together_ or anything. 

That would require actual dates, and Stiles finally telling his dad who he's been spending all his time with this summer, giving up his evasive  _just some guy I'm seeing casually, no we're not really dating, no reason for you to meet him_.

And really, Derek’s invitation to the party didn’t really count as a date…or an invitation, if he’s being honest.

It was a just an off-hand, _hey if you’re going to Erica and Boyd's thing on Friday we should go together_ , a casual shrug and a _no worries_ when Stiles said he already had plans with Scott, like it didn’t matter to him either way.

Ugh. _No worries_. Sour-faced asshole.

He knows he could always ask Derek out on a real date, but every time he tries to get up the nerve he freezes, is too scared of what his answer might be. What they have going is so awesome he doesn’t want to risk it, doesn’t want to scare Derek away with his young, overeager feelings. Doesn’t want to hear Derek tell him that he’s not interested in anything more.

Why would he be? Stiles is only nineteen, just a kid compared to Derek, who’s about to turn twenty-nine. Stiles is laughably inexperienced when it comes to relationships and sex, and besides, he’s heading back to Palo Alto in a month. Whatever he and Derek have is just a summer fling, and no matter how many nights he stays over or how _real_ Derek’s kisses feel, he should know better than to be hoping for more.

**~*~**

At dinner, Stiles mentions the party to Scott and Kira and they want to check it out, so they head over to the house Erica shares with her boyfriend Boyd, Derek's best friend. Stiles adds a pilfered bottle from his dad’s liquor cabinet to the mess of bottles littering the kitchen table, where they quickly make themselves drinks. They wander for a bit, seeing a few people they vaguely know, kids who graduated a few years ahead of them in Erica’s class. Stiles gulps his drink awkwardly, searching for Derek. It’s dim and the air is thick with pot smoke, and there’s enough people there that it takes him awhile just to find Erica, whose sitting cross-legged on the couch in the living room, studiously rolling a joint on the coffee table.

Stiles has met Boyd a few times, both at Derek’s place and at the library when he comes to visit Erica. He’s Derek’s age and a firefighter; he’s quietly witty and mellow, a perfect match for Derek's laconic wit. Boyd’s sitting next to Erica on the couch and calls them over. “Stiles, hey, man, glad you made it,” he says, reaching up to shake his hand. Stiles makes quick introductions to Scott and Kira, Erica saying hi but only looking up when she’s finished her incredibly important task. “She’s very focused when she’s stoned,” Boyd comments, poking her in the ribs.

“Oh I’m aware,” Stiles quips, sitting in the chair next to the couch, taking the joint from her after she lights it and takes the first hit. “I saw her re-shelve almost the entire young adult supernatural romance section in record time last week after she smoked a bowl on her lunch break.”

“That’s my girl,” Boyd laughs heartily, leaning over to kiss her cheek. 

They pass the joint around a couple times, Scott and Kira – clearly the world’s friendliest, most awkwardly-adorable couple – getting along with Erica and Boyd easily. For not the first time, Stiles is grateful that he’s spent his life at Scott McCall’s side. With Scott, social situations are more bearable, sometimes pleasant even. And he makes Stiles infinitely more likeable, his goofy grin and puppy eyes and pure sunshine heart softening Stiles’ biting sarcasm and abrasive wit.

Speaking of sarcastic assholes that you can’t help but adore, Stiles needs to find Derek, like _now._ His summer of getting high with Derek has left him conditioned to get horny as hell when he smokes, and that joint – Derek’s superb crop, of course – is mixing nicely with the booze and he’s starting to form a vague plan that involves a bedroom or a closet or bathroom and sucking Derek’s brains out through his big gorgeous cock.

“Is Derek here yet,” he asks Erica, swallowing and hoping his boner isn’t super obvious.

“Last I saw him he was on the back porch with the smokers,” she tells him, blowing a perfect stream of smoke rings. 

“Smokers,” he asks, confused.

“Cigarette smokers,” she clarifies, handing him the joint. “He probably wants some of this,” she says with a wink.

Stiles grabs the joint and jumps up, flipping them all off as they hoot and whistle at his back, practically running for the backdoor.

**~*~**

He takes another pull on the joint as he throws open the sliding glass door and steps on the back porch. It’s fully dark but the moon and stars are bright, the large deck lit by out-of-season Christmas lights.

He doesn’t see anyone out there, but smells cigarette smoke so he keeps looking. There’s a breakfast nook just to the left of the door, blocking his view of the deck's farthest corner. He rounds it, calling out. “Hey Der, you out here?”

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s seeing, like his brain is resisting it so strongly it's refusing to work.

But it does eventually, and even through his growing buzz he starts to understand exactly what’s happening, feels the weight of it crushing him.

Derek, pressed back against the deck railing, hands gripping it tight, kissing someone, a guy, a guy who Stiles recognizes once he pulls his stupidly handsome face away from Derek’s.

“Deputy Parrish,” Stiles croaks, blinking hard, recalling a vague memory of his dad mentioning that his new protégé and favorite deputy was into dudes. He’s never seen Parrish out of uniform before, and damn, he’s wearing those jeans _well_. Parrish doesn’t look surprised to see Stiles, just glances over at him, bleary-eyed and smiling. Holy shit, even drunk the guy is smoking hot and there’s just no competing with all of _that_. Parrish puts out his cigarette and runs his hands up Derek’s abs – abs that Stiles came all over just yesterday, he thinks absently – and Derek is just _standing_ there, _letting_ him.

“Hey Stiles,” Parrish says, arms starting to wrap around Derek’s waist easily, like they’ve been there before and know the way. “Your dad said you were home for the summer. Where you been?" 

He feels gutted, hollowed out. “Stiles,” Derek is saying, pushing Parrish’s arms away and stepping away from him. “I didn’t think you were going be here,” he says, and something inside of Stiles cracks a little bit.

“Oh fuck, Derek, I’m so sorry,” he seethes, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I guess it’s my fault for showing up. Please, don’t let me get in the way of you hooking up with the good deputy here.” He’s hoping that Derek doesn’t know that Parrish is a cop, that maybe throwing that in his face will hurt him some how. Which, _no_. Not only is Derek not at all surprised to hear that Parrish is a deputy, but it’s stupid to even think it matters, because Derek’s business is perfectly legal and Stiles has never actually even seen him sell pot to anyone. He just gives it to his friends, which may or may not be legal but who fucking cares, Stiles is hurt and angry and he’s knows he’s being childish and irrational because it’s not like he and Derek are actually anything more than fuck buddies but he _wants_ to be so much more than that and he’s starting to feel like he can’t breathe the longer he stands there and sees him next to another man.

“Stiles, that’s not what I meant, come on,” Derek reaches for him, tries to take his hand, but Stiles is turning away, needs to get out of there. 

He doesn’t go back through the house, doesn’t want to see anyone, finds the porch steps and stumbles his way in the barely-there light in to the grass. He finds the side gate, which, thank god, opens easily under his shaking hands. Too upset to drive, he turns away from the house, walking as fast as he can, needing to put as much distance between him and Derek and Parrish as he possibly can before he dissolves into a mess of angry tears, eyes already starting to burn. 

He _hates_ that he’s this upset about it, that he’s let himself get so spun on Derek when it’s so obvious that Derek just wants him for sex. 

And not even, really. It’s been almost two months and they’ve gotten each other off pretty much every way possible without actually fucking, Derek never even asking for that. Stiles has been letting Derek call the shots in that department because he’s so much more experienced – Stiles has been fucked by another person exactly _twice_ – so he hasn’t pushed for it, expecting that Derek will when he wants it.

But now, seeing him with Parrish, who’s Derek’s age, and yeah, with that face and body he’s definitely been fucked more than twice. Probably by Derek. Why bother with a nineteen year old almost-virgin when you have _that_?

He feels so stupid he wants to throw up.

He walks for awhile, until he spots a small neighborhood park, dark and empty, so he heads there. Realizing he’s only a few blocks from home, he texts Scott to tell him to take the Jeep, that he’ll walk home, hoping Scott’s distracted enough by Kira that he won’t respond for awhile and ask why he left.

Stiles collapses onto a bench next to the playground, buzz totally gone and nauseated with jealousy, chest aching as he tries to hold back the tears. He has a toothbrush at Derek’s place for the love of god. Granted, it’s just because Derek happened to have an extra one, said he bought two because they were buy one get one free. But still. He thought it meant something.

He can’t get the image of Derek and Parrish kissing out of his head, can’t stop replaying the whole terrible, embarrassing scene. To make it all worse, he realizes belatedly that Parrish has probably told Derek who his dad is, and yeah, legal growing business or not, he’s guessing Derek’s not too excited about Stiles not telling him he’s the sheriff’s kid.

Not that it matters anymore.

Face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, he doesn't even look up when headlights flash across him briefly before going out. There’s a low rumble of what sounds like a sports car too, shutting off after a moment. Stiles finally looks up from his tear-stained hands and sees Derek’s Camaro – which he’s never actually ridden in, because they’ve never actually gone anywhere together – parked on the street next to the park.

Stiles watches Derek get out of the car and walk over to him. He considers leaving, but he knows Derek well enough now to know just how stubborn he is, and besides, he’s too tired and angry to move and he was here first, goddamnit.

He can’t help but notice how good Derek looks in his snug-fitting jeans and tight blue v-neck, because he’s an asshole who can’t buy clothes that fit properly and Stiles _hates_ how much he loves that about him.

Derek sits next to him on the bench, close like he always does, like he has since that first day when he stunned Stiles with his smile and his laugh and his generosity, with his lust and affection. He doesn’t touch him though, doesn’t even say anything for a long time. “We’re not dating,” he says when he finally does speak, voice neutral and even, unreadable.

The crack in Stiles’ heart goes deeper, splintering, making it hard to breathe. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking clear on that one. Thanks for finding me to remind me and make me feel even shittier. You can go now. I’m sure Parrish is waiting for you.” He knows how bratty he sounds, doesn’t give a fuck because Derek followed him to rub this in his face, or maybe to try to convince him to still let him suck him off when he’s high and horny and _what the fuck_. 

“Stiles, you’re an idiot.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

Derek sighs, like he’s exasperated. “Stiles, nothing is going on with me and Jordan. We dated casually a while ago, but I haven’t seen him since before he left for his last tour in Afghanistan.” 

“It looked like something was going on when he was kissing you. But you’re right. I have no right to be pissed because we’re not dating.” The bitterness in his voice is palpable.

Derek leans forward and reaches for his hand, tentatively, like he’s worried Stiles is going to pull away. He doesn’t, barely. “Jordan’s drunk and he threw himself at me. I was trying to figure out how to tell him about you, but I didn’t know what to say, because we’re not really dating.” Stiles doesn’t say anything, just glances over at Derek, searches his face in the gray-blue moonlight, trying to figure him out. He seems sincere, thumb circling on his hand, eyes wide and seeking. He takes a deep breath. “I’d like to though, if that’s something you want.” It’s quiet, tentative, like he expects Stiles to laugh or say no, which really doesn’t make any sense _at all._

“You’d like to date me,” Stiles asks, incredulous. “Like…go places and hold hands and be my boyfriend and shit like that?”

Derek snorts and rolls his eyes, but he also squeezes his hand harder and smiles. “Yes, I would like to be your boyfriend and shit like that.” He pulls him closer, makes Stiles turn so he can look at him directly. “I’ve been thinking of you that way for awhile now,” he adds softly.

Stiles feels something like relief starting to bloom deep within him, but he tamps it down, needs to be really sure before he lets himself believe it. “You’ve been doing a pretty good job of hiding it,” he admonishes.

“Stiles, I bought you a toothbrush.”

“You said you had a coupon.”

“Do you really think I use coupons?” God, his eyebrows are _ridiculous_.

“Just because you’re a secret rich person, I’m supposed to know that you don’t use coupons? Come on!” 

“You stayed at my place for almost a week.” 

“I just thought you liked morning blowjobs.” His excuses for reasoning away Derek’s gestures are starting to sound more absurd as he says them out loud, Derek’s exasperated face growing more and more adoring.

“I do like morning blowjobs. I also like you. Why didn’t _you_ say anything about wanting more? You do…don’t you? Want more?”

“No, Derek, I just nearly lost my mind when I saw you kissing someone else because I’m totally _not_ into you. Yes, you idiot! Of course I want more. I’m freakin’ crazy about you.” Stiles knows it’s not an _I love you_ , but it’s the closest he’s ever come and hell, it’s scary, but it feels good too.

“Why didn't you say anything,” Derek repeats, smiling big, tension in his shoulders lessening even as he pretends to get more indignant.

“Are you kidding me? Dude, you’re like, ten years older than me and my dad’s the sheriff, which I’m guessing Parrish told you, so uh, yeah, sorry about not mentioning that.” 

“Stiles, I’ve known your dad is the sheriff since the day we met. I don’t care. I know him, actually. We’re on good terms.”

“Seriously? Well, good terms until he finds out you’ve been getting me stoned all summer. How do you know him? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“One of my greenhouses was broken into awhile ago. Your dad investigated and arrested the guys. When I was at his office signing some paperwork he mentioned that he had a son at Stanford, has pictures of you all over the damn place. Most of them with Scott. I couldn’t tell if he was your brother or your boyfriend.” Derek smiles at him again, moves closer on the bench. “I was pretty sure it was you that first day we met, and I asked Erica later. She said you were twitchy about me knowing for some reason so I didn’t say anything, figured you’d bring it up if you wanted to.” 

“Oh. Well that’s…really nice, actually.” Stiles isn’t really sure why he’s so surprised. Derek may be gruff and intimidating, what with his tattoos and beard and aggressive beauty, but he’s never been anything but kind and considerate of what Stiles wants. “I was worried that you wouldn’t want to get involved with me because of it, because of the weed and how much older you are than me…I mean, I’m legal, you know that. Just, you know, ten years is kinda a lot.”

“I know. That’s partly why I didn’t say anything about how I…feel about you. I didn’t think you’d want to go back to school in September with an almost-thirty year old boyfriend back in your hometown.” He says it like he’s trying to be casual, lighthearted, but even in the dark Stiles can tell he’s a little wistful, maybe even sad.

“I don’t care about that.” It’s true; he doesn’t. He cares more about his classes than the social part of college anyways, can’t think of anything more exciting and perfect than coming home on the weekends to see Derek, for Derek to come visit him at the off-campus apartment he and Scott are moving into.

“You might. You should be free to do what you want in college, you might not want to be tied down by a long distance relationship.” Derek says it like he’s thought about it a lot. 

“Palo Alto is only an hour and a half away. And I’m fairly confident that there’s nothing in college that I'll want more than you.” There he goes again, _confessing_ things.

Derek pulls him into a hug, holding him tightly and breathing in deep, nose nestled behind his ear. “I was trying asking you out, you know, when I asked you to come to the party with me,” he confesses softly when he finally pulls away.

Stiles tightens his grip on Derek’s hand. “I thought maybe you were, but you played it so damn cool.”

Derek snorts a small laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck, looking chagrined, cheeks pinking.

“What,” Stiles asks, suspicious. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” He scoots closer to him, nudging his thigh with his knee.

“Do you promise not to laugh?” Derek looks downright _sheepish_ , and it’s such a strange look on him Stiles can’t help but laugh, because it’s the most darling thing he’s ever seen and likely will ever see, _damn you Derek Hale._ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just looked so…cute. Please, tell me. We need to stop this not telling each other bullshit. I won’t laugh.” The ache in his chest is starting to feel like a fluttering, a rising warmth that’s lighting him up.

Derek sighs again in embarrassment. “Erica and Boyd threw the party for me…for us. I was too nervous to just ask you out on a real date so Erica suggested a party as a way for us hang out, to give me an excuse to ask you to do something with me.” 

Stiles’ mouth drops open, not in a laugh, but in indignant surprise, punching Derek lightly in the thigh. “Dude! You said ‘no worries’ when I said I couldn’t go!”

“Stiles, have you _ever_ heard me say ‘no worries’? I was just trying to get through the conversation without letting you see how disappointed I was.”

“Well, you did a damn good job of – “

Derek cuts him off with a kiss, just a soft press of his warm lips against his, hand reaching up to gently cradle his jaw, rubbing across his short, rough stubble. He pulls back before Stiles can deepen the kiss, smiling. “Sorry,” he murmurs into his neck. “I just couldn’t stand it any longer that you weren’t the last person who kissed me.”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous and perfect.” Stiles groans and leans back in, taking control this time, pushing into Derek’s mouth with his tongue, licking greedily, taking his fill because he can. 

“You know,” Derek whispers into his cheek after a bit, pulling back to look into his eyes. “That first day, I invited you in because I thought you were astoundingly beautiful, and I couldn’t stand the thought of letting you leave without kissing you.” He thumbs over his bottom lip, pulling it down just a bit before leaning in to nibble and lick at it before pulling back again, smirking at Stiles’ whiny little sigh. “You were loud and intense and energetic and funny and smart and totally unlike anyone I’ve ever met but I liked having you around, and I never like new people. Just ask Erica. It took months for me to warm up to her when she and Boyd started dating.”

He kisses him again, slowly, intimately, like he’s trying to show him all the things he hasn’t been able to say. Stiles drinks it up, gives in to it, to Derek, to his feelings for him. “So,” he teases, “you’re saying that you’ve wanted to be my boyfriend this whole time?”

“I’m saying that you’ve been my boyfriend this whole time, and I’m sorry I was an idiot about it.”

Stiles’ answering laugh bubbles through him, gets lost in Derek’s hair as he nuzzles back into him, biting softly at his earlobe. “No worries.”

**~*~**

“Stupid fucking bucket seats,” Stiles complains, twisting awkwardly across the center console of the admittedly very sexy Camaro, trying to better get at Derek’s dick as he drives them back to his place.

“You don’t need to – “ Derek breaks off with a hiss when Stiles finally gets his mouth around him, spit dribbling out of the corners and down his shaft. 

He swallows him down the best he can from this angle, tongue darting along the side and he bobs up and down a few times before pulling off. “Shut up and drive. I’m determined to get you off before we get back to your place.” 

“Jesus, Stiles,” he moans, hips thrusting up just a bit, engine rumbling.

They had practically raced each other to the Camaro when Derek asked him to come home with him, both of them giddy with relief. Before he started driving Derek reached into the center console and produced, like the magical weed fairy he is, two of his homemade (and bestselling) pot cookies, quirking an eyebrow up at him. They each ate one, kissing between bites and maybe even feeding each other little pieces like the lovesick fools they are. “These are going to kick in just in time,” he purred, starting the engine, right about the same time Stiles decided that he had waited long enough to get his cock in his mouth.

Stiles laughs and gets back to it, knows he only has a few more minutes to make good on his promise. He’s sucking him sloppily, ravenously, his own dick straining hard against his jeans, one of Derek’s hands on his head, the other on the wheel.

They roll to a stop at a red light and Stiles sucks harder, bobs up and down faster, thinks this would be the perfect time for Derek to come. “Oh _fuck_ ,” Derek hisses, but it’s not his usual I’m-about-to-come voice. He sounds freaked enough that Stiles pulls off, is about to sit up to ask what’s wrong when the hand on the back of his neck squeezes harder, keeps him down. Stiles isn’t even going to pretend that it doesn’t make him even harder. “ _Stay down_ ,” Derek hiss-whispers through gritted teeth.

Stiles is torn between his curiosity and his need to get Derek’s dripping cock back in his mouth, splits the difference and rests his head against his abs, stroking him steadily. “What’s going on up there, big guy,” he purrs, thumbing over the crown.

Teeth still gritted and mouth held tight like he’s trying not to move his lips, Derek finally speaks. “Your. Dad. Is. Next. To. Us. In his patrol car." 

Stiles’ exclaimed “oh my god” gets lost in the loud laugh he muffles into Derek’s stomach, and Derek squeezes his neck again, a gentle warning. He knows he shouldn’t be laughing, because really, this is horrifying, especially for Derek, but _come on_. It’s the cherry on top of an already ridiculous but kinda perfect night and he’s just so goddamn happy he honestly couldn’t give a fuck if his dad arrests them for indecent exposure and reckless driving. He’d smile the whole way to the station, take the world’s happiest mugshot because nothing can touch him now, not with how good he feels to have Derek for real. “I’m still gonna make you come before we get home,” he murmurs against the silky-soft skin of his shaft before swallowing him down again.

“Oh my god… _fuck he just looked over and waved at me._ ” Derek sounds equal parts turned on and mortified and Stiles just smiles around him, hums a bit and sucks harder before sliding off just slightly, mumbling around his head, tonguing into his sticky slit.

“Did you wave back?”

“Of…course….oh fuck, thank god he’s turning. He’s gone. I _hate_ you.” He lets out a heavy breath and drops his head back against the headrest, begins driving again, hand twisted up in Stiles’ hair.

“No, you don’t,” Stiles murmurs with a grin, getting back to it. 

**~*~**

Stiles is wiping dribbling come from his chin when they pull up to Derek’s house, smiling with pride and satisfaction as he sucks a few drops from his thumb. Derek cuts the engine off quickly, doesn’t even bother putting his cock away before getting out of the car and stalking over to the passenger side. Stiles is already climbing out when Derek hauls him out with a hand twisted in his shirt, pulling him into a sloppy kiss and then reaching down to scoop him up by the backs of his thighs, helping Stiles lock his ankles around his waist.

They make it inside and to the couch, stumbling and laughing. Stiles gets Derek’s shirt off as fast as he can, fingers itching to trace the lines of his ink that he’s come to know so well, to twist and tug at his chest hair, to get to be with him without holding back. Stiles is straddling him, breaking the kiss only to yank off his own shirt, Derek’s hands greedy on his ass. “Have you ever been fucked,” Derek asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, not sure what Derek wants the answer to be, unable to read the hard-edged grunt he gives in response.

Derek moves his hands up to clutch at his face, making him meet his gaze. Derek’s pupils are huge, that ineffable gold-green almost all gone.

“Not as good as I’m going to fuck you,” he says, voice low and husky, and _oh damn_.

 **~*~**

When Derek returns to the living room, Stiles has done as he’s told, is naked on the couch, legs splayed wide with his feet on the floor, slowly stroking himself with a spit-slick hand. 

Derek is naked too now, cock recovering, pretty head still partially hidden by his foreskin. It makes Stiles want to put his mouth on him again, but Derek falls to his knees before he can, setting the bottle of lube he went to retrieve on the coffee table behind him. Stiles is reminded vividly of that first night they met, how Derek surprised him and has been surprising him ever since.

That same look of hunger that intoxicated him that first day is in his eyes again now, but he’s also smiling too, like he knows something Stiles doesn’t. “What,” Stiles asks, voice low and dreamy, hand still working steadily, tongue sticking out of his mouth a bit as he watches Derek watching him, those big eyes narrowed in heated lust, locked on where Stiles is stroking himself.

Derek leans into him, licks up his neck and across his stubbled cheek, into his mouth. “I’m going to make it so good for you,” he whispers, sealing the promise with a sweet, gentle kiss. 

Stiles answers with a happy sigh, too blissed out to respond with words. He’s starting to feel dense and loose, that cookie kicking in faster than he expected. Or maybe he’s just love-dumb, enchanted by the way Derek can promise filthily in one breath and sweetly in the next how good he’s going to make him feel, how much he’s going to take care of him, wreck and ruin him in the very best way.

Derek moves quickly, manhandling him brusquely like he knows Stiles loves, rubbing his beard, long enough to be soft and silky now, against his stomach and placing a tender kiss on the wet tip of his cock before throwing his legs over his shoulders and pulling him down with a quick tug, lifting his hips up.

Derek breathes hotly on his balls for a moment before taking them into his mouth, suckling and tonguing until Stiles is a moaning, panting mess. He pulls off with a dirty little pop and presses his tongue against his taint for a long beat before flicking the tip back and forth, up and down, beard tickling him right to his core, hole twitching in anticipation. Derek pulls back finally, looks up at him, lets his legs fall to the side so he can get at him better. “First, you’re going to come with my tongue in your ass," he murmurs, sounding way more controlled than he looks, eyes wild and eager. "And then I’m going to open you up, and you’re going come again on my cock.”

 _"Derek_ , fuck,” Stiles grits out, tearing his hands away from his dick so he doesn’t come right then and there.

And then he can’t say anything at all, because Derek just smirks and dives back down, holds his legs open even wider, tongue hot and wet, circling his tight ring of muscle until Stiles is begging for more. Derek pushes his tongue in along with the tip of a spit-slick finger, moaning right along with Stiles as his body opens easily for him.

This isn’t the first time Derek’s done this, but every time with Derek feels brand new, stuns him with just how good he can make him feel. Stiles falls back against the couch, lets himself get lost in it, holds on tight to the cushions to keep his hands from his dick, wants to come just from Derek’s mouth, knows how much Derek likes it when he does.

It doesn’t take all that long, keyed up as he is from sucking him off in the car. Or maybe it takes an eternity – he’s not really sure, cookie hitting him full force now, turning time inside out along with his body, quivering and trembling with how unbelievably good it feels to have Derek shove his tongue into him again and again, two fingers pushing in now, hooking just right to tease at his prostate. His orgasm pulsates, shocks through him in slow, buzzing tremors, heat pooling at the backs of his knees, in his toes, deep within where Derek is licking and teasing, crying out and spurting across his stomach, hot little puddles that he can’t wait for Derek to lick up.

Derek does, of course, keeping his fingers in him, pushing them deeper, hair an even wilder mess from Stiles pulling at it. He smiles at him, scissoring his fingers as he pulls them out. Derek hops up with impressive agility and grace, plants a quick peck on his lips and heads out of the room, cute little dimples above his ass winking as he walks away, Stiles mumbling nonsensical appreciation the whole time. 

He's still sprawled out and smiling dumbly when Derek returns, big glass of water in each hand, giving one to Stiles, being extra careful that he has a good hold on it before letting him have it. Stiles just rolls his eyes and giggles, gulping thirstily, Derek falling to sit beside him just like he did that first day. He gulps his water too, waits for Stiles to finish his before putting both glasses on the table and grabbing the lube.

“Oh my god, you’re going to kill me,” Stiles mumbles, rocking his hips to give Derek better access. Derek pours some lube and warms it between his fingers, leans closer to him to mouth at his shoulder, stoned and cozy-looking, smiling as he gets his fingers back into Stiles’ beard-burned hole. He slips two in easily, Stiles’ breath hitching, loud moan escaping his lips.

“I got you,” Derek murmurs against his skin, eyes wandering up and down Stiles’ body as he makes quick work of readying him. Stiles reaches over to work Derek’s dick, fully hard again, flushed and thick and hot in his hand. “How do you feel,” he breathes after a bit, arching his hips up a little into Stiles’ fist, three fingers working steadily inside of him.

It takes Stiles a second to answer because he can do little more than loll in the glowing pleasure, body starting to feel like his limbs are disconnected, floating, but somehow more solid and real too, moored by Derek’s hands, by his mouth, the way his eyes look so wide and tender, his mouth red and plump. “‘M good,” he manages to slur, bearing down to try and get Derek’s fingers deeper. “H’re you, sexy?”

Derek laughs and pulls his fingers out without warning, making Stiles yelp and pout. He grabs him by the waist, heaves him over his lap with a grunt until Stiles is straddling him again. “So good,” he answers, moving slowly and grinning softly, looking very much like Stiles feels. “Want you to ride me," he pants, lining himself up with his stretched and lubed hole.

“Oh fuck, Der,” Stiles gets his hands on his shoulders, holds on tight to their bulk, anchoring himself.

“Have you ever,” Derek asks, “like this?”

Stiles is glad that the truth is what he’s sure Derek wants to hear. “No, never.”

Derek smiles and growls low, spreads Stiles’ ass gently as he helps him lower himself, tilting forward to catch his bottom lip in an uneven kiss just as he breaches him, catching Stiles’ gasp on his tongue. Derek did a thorough job of opening him and he’s already simmering with dense pleasure, barely feels any burn at all, just the sweet stretch of his body accommodating Derek’s generous length and girth. His hands are circling his hips now, powerful thumbs digging in just below Stiles’ sharp hipbones, holding him tight and guiding him down with tortuously slow control.

It’s never felt like this before, like his body is reshaping itself, molding itself to fit around Derek, easily, like he's meant to take this new shape, to bring Derek into him and keep him there as long as he can. Stiles feels full, thick and dense with it. They’re both trembling by the time he's fully seated, falling forward to press his forehead against Derek’s, still holding on tight to his shoulders. Derek’s hands slowly run from his hips across his lower back, down to his ass, fingers seeking where they’re joined, tickling softly around Stiles’ stretched entrance. “I knew you’d take me so good,” he exhales heavily. “You’re so good, so tight…Stiles, _fuck_.”

It makes Stiles’ eyes roll back in head a bit, how fucking sweet and dirty Derek sounds, his praise warming him up like nothing he’s ever felt before. Derek still isn’t moving, maybe giving Stiles time to adjust or maybe getting a hold of himself, but Stiles kisses him anyways, just a quick, wet peck on his mouth before leaning back a bit, hands falling to cup around his biceps, rolling his hips slowly, gulping a bit at the shockwaves of pleasure it sends through him. “Is this okay,” he asks once he finds a steadier rhythm.

Derek just groans, which Stiles takes as encouragement, starts to rise up and down on his knees a bit, adding some more friction to the rocking of his hips. He’s never done this before, but his body seems to know what to do, seems to know what Derek likes, judging by the way he hasn’t stopped groaning and panting since Stiles started moving, head thrown back against the back of the couch, broad chest starting to flush red.

Stiles likes it too, fucking _loves_ it, loves how he’s getting fucked by Derek but also fucking him too, Derek letting him set their pace. He rubs his hands across his chest, palming his hard pink nipples, rolling his hips faster, riding him harder, seeking his second release with increasingly wild abandon.

Derek is encouraging him, mumbling and murmuring, hands sparking little bursts of heat all over his skin, starting to rut up, powerful thrusts in time with the frantic snapping of Stiles' hips. Even with the building tide of rushing sensation, Stiles can still feel the track of a single bead of sweat slipping down his spine, hisses when he feels it dip into his crack. He falls against Derek, buries his face in his neck, hips rocking faster still, losing what little grace and finesse he had, unable to control himself much longer. He sits back up to look at him after a minute, wants to look into his eyes when he comes.

Derek tightens his grip around him, wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him closer against his chest. He feels like he’s starting to burst, like his body can’t contain how good it feels, teetering right on the edge of a combustion that he thinks he might not ever recover from, doesn’t ever want to. Derek's holding him close enough now that his cock is rubbing hard against the ridged plane of his abs, giving him just enough friction to want more. He tries to reach for himself, but Derek stops him, gets his own hand around him instead. He doesn’t even stroke him, not really, just gives him his tight fist to fuck into as he bounces and rides. It doesn’t take long after that, the wave cresting and crashing, blood pounding in his ears, heat building deep in his core, throbbing and shaking. He knows he’s making noise, is loud as hell probably, but he can’t really control it or even really process it, too consumed with how perfectly undone he is, nothing but a burning ember of smoldering pleasure. Stiles shoots so hard some of his come lands on Derek’s chin, and he just _smiles_ , looking up at him, rapturous. He keeps rocking, clenching tight, still coming.

Derek does this whole-body shiver thing that often presages his orgasm, and fuck, it makes Stiles feel good that he knows that, recognizes it so distinctly even in the midst of his own throes. Derek clamps his teeth around his collarbone, buries his trim nails in Stiles’ back, sobs a little bit as he juts up harder into him and stills, pulsing hot bursts, filling him up for the first time.

**~*~**

Stiles isn’t sure how long it takes before they have the energy to move, stumbling up the stairs and into the shower in a tangle of sticky limbs and gruff laughter. He’s solidly on stoner time, moments stretched out and abbreviated at once, and he couldn't care less, consumed as he is by the way Derek kisses him, just as passionately as before but with more heat, more vulnerability, like he’s not holding back anymore either.

**~*~**

The next night they take each other out on a real date, dinner and a movie. They hold hands the entire time.

Two days later Stiles doesn’t have to work so he helps Derek make deliveries to three medical dispensaries. He lets Stiles choose the music when they’re driving and introduces him as his boyfriend to all of his business associates. They're driving down the coast highway on their way home when Derek pulls off the road into a secluded beach viewpoint, barely taking the time to turn off the engine before crawling over to the floor of the passenger seat to suck him off. "You know," he says, letting Stiles lick the taste of him from his lips, "I really like being your boyfriend and shit." 

**~*~**

A week after that, Derek comes over to his house for dinner with his dad, looking adorable in a black button-up and grasping tightly on to the way too expensive bottle of scotch he brings for him.

“So Derek,” his dad says once they’re seated round the table, sipping at his scotch and smiling warmly. “You’re the one that’s been keeping Stiles… _busy_ all summer. Tell me, how did you two meet?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [Tumblr](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com/) and cry over how beautiful Dylan O'Brien is with stubble.


End file.
